Cause to Save (An Avery Black Mystery—Book 5)

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER THREE

Oddly enough, Connelly tasked Finley with heading down to the crime scene with her. Finley didn’t talk much on the way and instead looked out the window thoughtfully most of the time. She knew Finley had never really gotten deep into the weeds of any high-profile cases. If this was to be his first, she sort of pitied him.

I guess they’re preparing for the worst—someone needs to step up if Ramirez doesn’t make it through. Finley is just as good as anyone. Better, maybe.

When they arrived at the crime scene, it was clear that the forensics and crime scene investigators were done with their duties. They were milling around, most of them by the crime scene tape looped around the entrance to the alleyway. One of them had coffee in his hand, making Avery realize that it was morning. She checked her watch and saw that it was only 8:45.

God, she thought. I seriously lost all concept of time over the last few days. I could have sworn it was at least nine when I got to my apartment.

This thought made her feel tired all in one moment. But she waved it off as she and Finley approached the gathered investigators. She absently waved her badge as Finley nodded politely from her side.

“You sure you’re up for this?” Finley asked.

She only nodded as they entered the alleyway, ducking under the crime scene tape. They walked down the alley for several feet and then took a left where the alleyway emptied into small area filled with dust, debris, and graffiti. A few old city garbage bins sat in the corner, neglected. Not too far away from them was the woman Avery had seen in the crime scene photos. Those images had not fully prepared her for seeing it in real life.

The blood, for one, was somehow much worse now. Without the glossy finish of the photos, it was muted and deadly looking. The startling nature of the murder snapped her back to reality quickly, pulling her mind and thoughts almost entirely out of Ramirez’s hospital room.

She stepped as closely as she could without stepping in blood and let her mind do its thing.

The bra and underwear aren’t sultry or provocative at all, she thought. This was not a girl heading out in search of a good time. If the underwear looks like this, chances are good her outfit wasn’t very revealing, either.

She slowly circled the body, her mind taking in the small details more than the gore now. She saw the puncture wound where the nail had driven in through the bottom of her jaw. But then she also saw several other wounds, all exactly the same—all inflicted with a nail gun. One between her eyes. One just above her left ear. One in each knee, one in the base of the chest, one through the jaw, and one at the back of the head. The flow of the blood and the brief description Connelly had given her suggested that there were similar wounds on the back of the girl’s body, which was currently pressed against the far brick wall like a rag doll.

It was brutal, excessive, and violent.

The icing on the cake was the fact that her left hand was missing. The still-bleeding stump suggested that it had been cut off no more than six hours ago.

She called over her shoulder to the handful of gathered investigators. “Any preliminary signs of rape?”

“Nothing visible,” one of them called back. “Won’t know for sure until we get her out of here.”

She heard the bite to his comment but ignored it. She circled the woman slowly. Finley watched her from a safe distance, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else in the world. She studied the body, the nature of it. This was done by someone who needed to prove a point. That much was clear.

That’s why they want to jump straight to Howard, she thought. He just escaped, was put away for his crimes, and now wants to prove that he’s still dangerous—to himself as well as to the police.

But that didn’t feel right. Howard was demented but this was almost barbaric. It was beneath him.

Howard does not have a problem killing—and doing it in ways that grab the media’s attention. He scattered the body parts of his victims around Harvard, after all. But nothing like this. This is beyond the point of being obscene. Howard’s murders were violent, but there was something almost clean to them…evidence suggests he strangled them first and then came the cutting. But even the cuts to the severed body parts had been done with something akin to precision.

When she finally stepped away, logging it all in her head, Finley stepped forward. “What do you think?” he asked.

“I have a thought,” she said. “But Connelly sure as hell isn’t going to like it.”

“What’s that?”

“Howard Randall had nothing to do with this.”

“Bullshit. What about the hand? Want to bet it’s hiding somewhere on Harvard campus?”

Avery only made a hmmm noise. He was making a fair assumption, but she still wasn’t buying it.

They started back for their car, but before they could even make it to the crime scene tape, she saw a car come screeching to a halt on the sidewalk by the street. She didn’t recognize the car but she recognized the face. It was the mayor.

What is this cretin doing here? she wondered. And why does he look so pissed?

He stormed toward the remaining investigators, all of whom started to part for him. As they gave way, Avery ducked under the crime scene tape to meet him. She figured she’d cut him off before he could stick his nose in the bloody mess waiting behind her.

Mayor Greenwald’s face was a red sheet of pure rage. She was fully expecting foam to start pouring from his mouth.

“Avery Black,” he spat, “what in the blue hell do you think you’re doing here?”

“Well, sir,” she said, not quite certain which smart-assed reply to give.

As it turned out, it didn’t matter. Another car came barreling to a stop along the sidewalk, nearly kissing the back of the mayor’s. This car Avery did recognize. It had barely come to a stop before Connelly got out of the passenger’s side. O’Malley killed the engine and stepped out too, catching up with Connelly as quickly as he could.

“Mayor Greenwald,” Connelly said. “This isn’t what you think.”

“This morning, what did you tell me?” Greenwald said. “You told me that all signs pointed to this murder being the work of Howard Randall. You ensured me you would handle the matter with care and that the crime scene might offer clues to where that son of a b***h is hiding. Did you not?”

“Yes sir, I did,” Connelly said.

“And you’re telling me that sticking Avery Black on the case is handing the matter? The very detective that the media knows meets in private with him on occasion?”

“Sir, I assure you, she is not on the case. I called her in as nothing more than a consult. She does, after all, know Howard Randall better than anyone else on the force.”

“I don’t care. If the media smells this…if they so much as think Detective Black is running this case, I’ll have so much s**t to shovel that I’ll be using your paychecks to buy the shovels.”

“Yes, I understand, sir. But the—”

“This city is already terrified with Randall on the loose,” the mayor went on, really on a tirade now. “You know as well as I do that at least thirty calls a day are coming in with concerned people thinking they’ve spotted him. When they get wind of this murder—and let’s face it, it’s really just a matter of time—they’ll know it’s him. And if Avery f*****g Black is on the case, or anywhere near the case—”

“Then it won’t matter,” Avery said, having heard enough.

“What did you say?” Mayor Greenwald practically screamed.

“I said it won’t matter. Howard Randall didn’t do this.”

“Avery…” O’Malley said.

Meanwhile, Connelly and Mayor Greenwald looked at her as if she had grown a third arm.

“Are you serious right now?” Greenwald asked.

And before she could answer, Connelly took his side—big surprise there. “Black…you know this is Howard Randall’s work. Why in God’s name would you think otherwise?”

“Just pull the files, sir,” she said. She then looked to Greenwald and added: “Same to you. Check Howard Randall’s files. Find one of his murders where he did something like this—something so over the top and bloody. Dismemberment is one thing. But this borders on exploitive. Howard strangled the majority of his victims first. What I’m seeing with this latest death is far from something like that.”

“Howard Randall smashed one woman’s head in with a damned brick,” Greenwald said. “I’d say that’s pretty bloody and brutal.”

“It is. However, that lady was struck twice and the report shows it was the second strike that killed her—not the first. Howard Randall is not in this for the thrill or the violence or the exploitation. Even in scattering the body parts, there was a minimal amount of blood and gore. It was almost as if he shied away from blood, despite his actions. But this murder back here…it’s too much. It’s gratuitous. And while he’s a monster and a definite murderer, Howard Randall is not gratuitous.”

She saw a shift in Connelly’s expression. He was at least thinking about it, taking her examples with a grain of salt. Mayor Greenwald, on the other hand, was not having it.

“No. This is Howard Randall’s work and it’s ridiculous to think otherwise. As far as I’m concerned, this murder puts a fire under the entire A1 division—hell, on every officer in this entire city! I want Howard Randall in handcuffs or heads will roll. And effective immediately, I want Black off of this case. She is not to be involved in any capacity!”

With that, Greenwald stormed back to his car. Avery had suffered through meetings with him in the past and was starting to think he stormed everywhere. She had never seen him simply walk.

“You’ve been back on the job for half an hour,” O’Malley said, “and already managed to piss the mayor off.”

“I’m not on the job,” she pointed out. “How did he find out I was here anyway?”

“No clue,” Connelly said. “We’re assuming a news crew saw you leave the precinct and someone tipped him off. We tried to get here before he did but obviously failed.” He sighed, collected his breath, and added: “How sure are you that this wasn’t Randall? Definite?”

“Of course I’m not definite. But this does not fit any of his other murders. This one feels different. Looks different.”

“Think it could be a copycat?” Connelly asked.

“It could, I suppose. But why? And if it is, he’s doing a bad job.”

“What about a fanatical shithead that is into murder culture?” Connelly asked. “One of these losers that collects serial killer training cards got a hard-on when Randall escaped and finally got up the courage to kill for the first time.”

“Seems like a stretch.”

“So does not fingering a recently escaped Howard Randall for a murder than is so close in style to his former work.”

“Sir, you wanted my opinion and I’ve given it to you.”

“Well,” Connelly said, “you heard Greenwald. I can’t have you helping with this anymore. I appreciate you coming down this morning when I asked but…I guess it was a mistake.”

“I guess so,” she said, hating how easily Connelly buckled to pressure from the mayor. He’d always done it and it was one of the only reasons she had always found it hard to respect her captain.

“Sorry,” O’Malley told her as they headed back to the car. Finley trailed behind them, having watched the entire showdown with passive discomfort. “But maybe he’s right. Even if the mayor wasn’t being so adamant about this, do you really think it’s the sort of thing you should get involved in right now? It’s been just over two weeks since your last big case—where you nearly died, I might add. And two weeks since Ramirez…”

“He’s right,” Connelly said. “Take some more time off. A few more weeks. Can you do that?”

“It is what it is,” she said, heading to the car with Finley. “Good luck with this killer. You guys will find him, I’m sure of it.”

“Black,” Connelly said. “Don’t take it personally.”

She didn’t respond. She got in the car and cranked it, giving Finley only a handful of seconds to join her before she pulled away from the curb and a dead body that she was almost positive was not the work of the recently escaped Howard Randall.